


Drops on the Tile

by LittleBlueArtist



Series: Emotional Whiplash [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Feels, Gen, Hurt!Stiles, Nogitsune Stiles, Nogitsune!Stiles, Triggers, trigger warning: self harm, under 1k
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1431310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleBlueArtist/pseuds/LittleBlueArtist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles hurts. He's been hurting since the day he saw the man get crushed by his car, but a smile and some spazzy movements obviously means that he's okay, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drops on the Tile

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a gif set. (Link in the bottom notes) When I was writing this it was titled "A Big Fuck You to Jeff Davis For Ignoring the Mental State of his Characters" I think I might do Lydia and Isaac, too...

Stiles remembers what he said after Allison's death. He was sitting with Kira as her mother handed him tea. "One good thing's coming out of this. At least I'm dying, too." He deserved it, after all.  _He_  ordered the Oni to kill his friend.  _He_ twisted that blade into Scott's stomach. Maybe it wasn't his idea, but he remembers doing it. He remembers the feel of the cool metal and the sound of the blood gurgling in Scott's throat.

Even worse, he remembers things from before. From before the Nogitsune, before Kira. He remembers lying there, crawling to his phone as the venom paralyzed his muscles. He remembers the sharp cry and then silence of the man who got crushed by  _his_ Jeep. He remembers watching it happen, but no one else seems to notice. Stiles remembers the day of Lydia's party, when she was being controlled by Peter. He remembers the feeling of shame as his father threw the whiskey; remembers how he blames himself for his mother's death. Stiles still blames himself.

He remembers the feeling of being beaten by Gerard after the lacrosse game. The fists pounded into him with no mercy, no care that he was only human. Even worse, he saw Boyd and Erica. He saw them hanging there, being tortured with volts of electricity, and he couldn't do anything. He remembers putting his father in danger with Matt because the boy went psycho. His only family and Stiles was putting him in danger for not telling him the big secret. 

He remembers standing there, a puddle of gasoline surrounding him and his best friend, no, his  _brother_ , Scott McCall. He remembers gripping the flare, crying as he tried to convince the person who'd put up with him since first grade not to leave him; that he was worth something ( _Scott, you're not nothing. If you go, I'm going with you, because you're my brother, Scott_ ). He remembers all of it.

Though, even being human lie detectors, a smile and spazzy movements seem to fool the werewolves around him. He  _hurts_. He should be the one dead, not Allison. He didn't even deserve a funeral. And it's not just the emotional pain. Ever since the dark fox left him, a dull ache has been in his body. It never stops, never lessons. Sometimes it gets worse, but it's always there regardless. He doesn't let Scott touch him anymore. No one can know how much Stiles actually hurts, because he knows he's their relief. He  _knows_ that he's the funny sidekick with awesome one-liners. 

But all of those one-liners didn't lead him here. The hurt, pain, shame, led him here. Those smiles and spazzy movements didn't put the blade in his hand. The anger, emptiness, aching hole in his chest put it gently into his palm. "The only good thing," Stiles says, pressing the razor into his pale wrist, "is that now, I can die a little, too." He barely feels it as red trickles over white, splatters on the tile. He'll have to clean it up, clean his wound with warm water and soap, and then dump an entire bottle of hydrogen peroxide on it to cover the smell, but it was worth it.

He felt better, relieved, almost. He knows that when you cut your skin endorphins are released, but Stiles doesn't care. Without noticing, Stiles cut another five lines. He wanted to cry from the relief. Now he could hurt himself instead of others. He could repay Allison by dying little by little instead of quickly. He could repay his father for leaving by dying little by little. He could repay  _himself_ by dying little by little.

Stiles didn't know he was crying until a tear landed on his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> (http://kickassnerd73.tumblr.com/post/81999386238/im-fine) Update: Did you like this fic? Want more of your own? Well I have good news! I've opened commissions! Find the info post [here!](http://noyaplease.tumblr.com/post/149722884338/writing-commissions)


End file.
